


Not Broken, Just Bent

by kinksock22



Series: Dom Dean/sub Sam [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Aftercare, BDSM Scene, Bad BDSM Scene, Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Coming Untouched, Dom Dean, Dom/sub, First Time, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Minor Violence, Protective Dean Winchester, Rimming, Spanking, Sub Sam, Subdrop, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5948503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinksock22/pseuds/kinksock22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt at the kink meme: <i>S7 (or any other time you want to posit with Sam plagued by Hallucifer). Sam needs pain to crowd the Devil to the back of his mind. Lots of pain. More pain than his brother is willing to dish out--or, at least, a hell of a lot more than Sam is willing to ask of him.</i></p><p>  <i>When the urges get too bad or his mind gets too noisy, Sam finds someone who can do it for him. He makes cursory efforts to screen these people, but their life is hectic (understatement) and as his mind turns on itself, he grows reckless. Dean knows nothing about it.</i></p><p>
  <i>One day, he lets a dom tie him up and whip/cane him, knows it's dangerous but just doesn't care, but the person (man or woman) is really just a sadist without much skill or self-restraint, and they do serious damage. They keep on doing it. Sam never stops them, first drunk on the pain even if he rationally knows it's gone too far, then lost in his own mind, and the dom keeps going long after Sam checks out.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dean goes looking for his MIA little brother and walks right in on this travesty of a "scene."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dealer's choice what happens to the "dom" who tortures Sam. Murder not objected to.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Broken, Just Bent

**Author's Note:**

> What I know about BDSM and S and M (which isn't much, I admit) I learned online. Please excuse any glaring errors. I don’t mean to harm, offend or demean anyone.

Even though the scar on his palm is permanent, the effectiveness of it lasts only a few short months. After the shit with Jeffery and giving in to Lucifer’s taunts and breaking down and begging him for help, it stops working altogether. Sam needs something new, something _more_. He just can’t bring himself to ask even more of his brother. Losing Bobby and Cas and dealing with Sam’s crap has left Dean even more thin-spread than usual. For once, Sam just has to learn to suck it up and not be so dependent on Dean, he has to learn to take care of things himself, before it gets so bad that he fucks up on a hunt and Dean pays the price.  
  
While Dean thinks that Sam is vanilla and boring, he really isn’t. Well, not entirely. There was a whole underground BDSM scene at Stanford and before he met Jess, Sam checked it out, went to a few clubs, even participated in a scene or two. He knows there are ways to get the pain he needs.  
  
When they stop for the night after leaving Coeur d’Alene, Sam heads out on his own. Dean’s still tired and crashes as soon as they get their room so he doesn’t even have to think up and excuse. It isn’t hard to find a BDSM club when you know what to look for. He picks a Dom and asks the right questions and is lead into a backroom. Sam closes his eyes and lets the pain take it all away. Lucifer is at his side of course but after a few glorious minutes he flickers and disappears. The Dom knows what he’s doing, gets Sam where he needs to go without leaving welts that will bleed and might scar, that would be hard as hell to explain to Dean if he ever saw them.  
  
He leaves feeling better, his mind clearer, but riding all day in the Impala when they head out is a bit of a bitch. But it does have the added effect of pressing against the slight bruises left behind and the bit of pain keeps Lucifer at bay the whole drive.  
  
It works for a few weeks. Sam’s as careful as possible, he gets what he needs and Dean is none the wiser. But then, like the scar, it stops working. He needs more and more to drown out Lucifer, to keep his head clear. He stops being as careful, willing to let nearly anyone take him into a backroom and almost beat his ass raw. He finds it harder and harder to reach subspace, to get to the perfect spot where everything is blessedly quiet and he feels almost normal – or as close to normal as Sam ever was.  
  
A month into it, Sam snaps. They’ve been on the road for days, he hasn’t slept and hasn’t had the chance to find a club in nearly a week. Lucifer is with him 24/7 and he can see the worry in Dean’s eyes. He leaves Dean with the excuse of finding a library to do some research and finds a seedier-than-usual club. Grabbing the first Dom he finds, Sam drags him into a room, strips down completely and begs to be tied up and beaten. It’s stupid and reckless and Sam knows this but he can’t think past the voices and static in his head, Lucifer’s leering face and innuendo.  
  
The Dom – Sam didn’t even bother to ask for a name – ties him to a bench, wrists and ankles, ass in the air. Sam grunts with the first swipe of the whip, tilts his hips up, silently begging for more. The hits come hard and fast and Sam’s drunk on the pain, nearly screaming with every lash. He slips into subspace easily then slips past it, trapped in his own head, unable or unwilling – even he’s not sure at this point – to safeword. Not that it would matter, he never even told the Dom his safeword to begin with. What started out as perfect pain becomes agony, the whip laying marks across his ass, thighs, his back. He can feel the welts, can feel blood, but doesn’t have the ability or the strength to stop it.  
  
He’s floating, drowning, when he hears a loud thump – his hunter brain registering it as a boot hitting a door but he can’t process what it means – then the lashes stop. He’s so weak he can’t even lift his head, blinking slowly, feeling like he’s lost in the world’s worst drug haze. There’s muffled thumps and thuds, the sound of flesh against flesh, grunts of pain and anger and exertion.  
  
Rough, calloused – familiar but he can’t place it – hands grip the sides of his face and his eyes roll in their sockets. “Sam.” The voice is a low, tortured growl and he manages to focus enough to latch onto angry, worried green.  
  
~~**~~  
  
Dean has known something’s been up with Sam for weeks. Something more than the usual anyway. Knowing Sam though, Dean figured that he’d eventually spill whatever it is or slip up somehow and Dean would figure it out.  
  
But after a week of not sleeping – Sam thinks he doesn’t know but he does, he knows everything about that kid – and becoming increasingly fidgety and angsty and snappish, when Sam states that he’s heading to a library to research at eleven at fucking night, Dean knows something is really, really wrong. He gives it a half hour – twenty-nine fucking minutes too long – and follows Sam. His brother must be _really_ off his game because tracking him is way too easy.  
  
To say that he’s surprised when he ends up at a BDSM club is a fucking understatement of epic proportions. He can’t see plain, vanilla Sammy being into anything like this. Maybe he doesn’t know everything he thinks he does about his brother.  
  
The sound of Sam screaming and grunting in pain is something that Dean has heard too much in their lives. And it’s a sound that can never be mistaken, like the sound of his own heartbeat. When he kicks in the door to the room Sam is in, what he sees makes his blood boil and his stomach turn and everything he did in Hell under Alistair’s watchful eyes comes back with a vengeance.  
  
Sam’s tied to a fucking bench, ass up, while some dickhead beats the shit out of him with a fucking whip. There’s blood everywhere and Sam’s back, ass and thighs look more like ground meat than skin. Jaw clenched, Dean yanks the whip away and turns it on the fucker who _dared_ to hurt his little brother, whether said little brother came looking for it or not. Dean may not be into the scene but he knows enough about S and M – and torture – to know that this prick is a fucking sadist that has no clue what he’s doing. When the whip stops being effective, Dean switches to his fists, beating the guy until he stops moving. Fuck, Dean’s not even sure if he’s breathing but he couldn’t honestly give a shit less.  
  
Kneeling in front of Sam, Dean grabs both sides of his face, thumbs smearing through tears and drool and snot. Glassy, hazy hazel eyes roll and try to focus on his face but Sam’s too far gone. Keeping one hand on Sam’s cheek, Dean grabs his knife and slices through the thick rope binding his brother, clenching his jaw hard enough to hurt when he sees the abrasions and rope burn around Sam’s slender wrists and ankles. Once he has Sam untied, he hefts him into his arms and carries him – Sam’s lost way too much weight and Dean feels like the world’s biggest asshole for not noticing before it got this bad – to the soft, plush couch in the corner. He strips off his jacket and shirts, pulls Sam into his arms, against his chest, one hand petting through his hair.  
  
Sam comes around slowly, head lolling, eyes blinking slowly. Honestly if Dean didn’t know the cause of all this, he’d swear his brother’s been drugged. Sam’s head falls to the side, resting against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean closes his eyes, presses a kiss to the top of his sweat-soaked hair.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean sighs sadly. “God, kiddo. Why didn’t you come to me?”  
  
“De…”  
  
Dean sighs again and pulls Sam closer, mindful of the numerous wounds littering his body. “Yeah, ‘s me, little brother.”  
  
“S’rry,” Sam slurs.  
  
“Shh, Sam, I know,” Dean murmurs. “’s okay.”  
  
“’s not,” Sam argues. Fucking stubborn little shit. Beat half to death and he still wants to fucking argue. “D’dn’t wantchu to see.”  
  
“You should’a came to me, Sam. Before it got to this point.”  
  
“Couldn’t,” Sam huffs, turning slightly, burying his face in Dean’s neck. The warmth of fresh tears against Dean’s skin breaks his fucking heart all over again. “Do too much for me. Needed more pain…”  
  
Fucking Lucifer. Fucking Cas. Fucking angels. Dean wants to rip all their Goddamn wings off. “The scar?”  
  
“Doesn’t work,” Sam sighs. “Didn’t… Didn’t want you to know. Didn’t wanna fuck up on a hunt and get you hurt.”  
  
“Damnit, Sam,” Dean whispers hoarsely, nose buried in Sam’s hair. “You need something, even _this_ , you fuckin’ come to _me_. Stone number one, remember?”  
  
Sam sobs softly and burrows closer, hissing slightly. “’m sorry,” he whispers brokenly.  
  
“I know, Sammy,” Dean coos softly, petting Sam’s hair, his shoulders. “’s okay, baby boy. We’ll fix it, okay? I’ll fix it. I’ll make it better.”  
  
Dean holds his trembling, broken little brother while he sobs, petting and whispering to him, soothing him as best as he can. Once Sam’s coherent enough to move, Dean gently dresses him and leads him to the car, laying him face-down on the backseat. Back at the motel, Dean strips Sam again and helps him onto the bed. Thankfully, Sam’s asleep in minutes – kid definitely fucking needs it – and Dean starts cleaning and patching him up. It takes hours.  
  
~~**~~  
  
It takes days for Sam to even start to recover from his disastrous trip to the club. His wounds heal well – Dean always has done a wonderful job patching him up – but his mental state is even more unstable than it was before he went. He can’t force himself to get out of bed, he’s depressed, anxious, ashamed, embarrassed and even angry. He can’t bring himself to even look at Dean, let alone talk to him. His brother tries – for once Dean stows the whole No Chick-Flick rule and actually attempts to talk to Sam, about his feelings, what happened, anything – but Sam just can’t bring himself to acknowledge any of it.  
  
Dean _knows_. He saw Sam like that, ass-up and beaten bloody, used-up and useless. Frankly, Sam’s surprised that Dean hasn’t ditched out yet, Sam being injured or not.  
  
The absolute _only_ positive thing about the whole ordeal is the fact that Sam is so fucked up with what happened that even Lucifer is absent, the voices and the noise in his head all wonderfully quiet.  
  
After a week, Sam’s wounds have healed enough that Dean deems him ready to be able to ride in the car. Dean bundles him up in sweats and a hoodie and settles him in the passenger’s seat and heads out. Sam doesn’t know where they’re going and he honestly doesn’t care. Aside from the night Dean brought him back to the motel Sam hasn’t slept and not even the rhythmic – usually comforting – motion and sounds of the Impala are able to lull him to sleep.  
  
Sam isn’t surprised when they get to Rufus’ cabin. It’s the closest they have to a home base since Bobby’s house caught fire and Sam knows that Dean feels as comfortable there as he possibly can. Sam drags himself out of the car and inside behind Dean, stopping just inside the door, unsure what to do with himself. He’s been feeling that more and more, especially after the bad scene that Dean pulled him out of. He’s just so unsure of everything, mostly himself.  
  
Dean takes Sam’s duffel and his own and takes them into the back bedroom then grabs Sam’s wrist and pulls him toward the couch, gently pushing him down. Dean sits next to him, his arm around Sam’s shoulders, and pulls Sam against his side, tucking Sam’s head beneath his chin. This is something else that has changed in the last week that Sam still can’t get used to no matter how often it happens. As kids, they were extremely tactile with each other but once they became teenagers that was one more thing that Dad trained out of them. Sam didn’t realize how much he’d missed his brother’s touch until he got it back. But it hurts at the same time, knowing that Dean thinks, _knows_ , that Sam is so broken that he needs to physically be held together.  
  
Dean buries one hand in his hair and holds him close, both arms tight around him. His brother’s embrace is the safest place that Sam ever knew but he feels like crawling out of his skin at the moment. “I know that you’re still goin’ through shit,” Dean starts softly. “And I don’t wanna push you but we need to talk about this, Sam. You were… Things were bad before this and now they’re worst. It’s killing you. Lemme help you.”  
  
Sam closes his eyes and pushes his face further against his brother’s throat. He thought that he was hiding how far gone, how much he’d been falling apart, better than that. But he should have known better. Dean’s too damn observant for him to get away with hiding something that big.  
  
“Sammy, please,” Dean whispers. “I can’t… I can’t just sit by and do nothing. Tell me what to do, what you need. Fuck, tell me anything.”  
  
Sam inhales deeply, exhales a sigh. “The scar stopped workin’ a while ago,” he mutters, voice hoarse and low from disuse in the last week and probably still from screaming during his last scene.  
  
“So instead’a talkin’ to me, tellin’ me what was goin’ on, you went to a freakin’ BDSM club?” Dean asks incredulously.  
  
Sam pulls away from Dean, stares at the wall in front of them. “Despite what you saw, I’m not completely stupid, Dean,” Sam grits out.  
  
“I never said that you were,” Dean replies automatically. “In fact, I know that you’re not. Which is why I don’t get it.”  
  
“Before… that night, it worked out really well for a month. And I had some experience even before that. Back at school,” Sam admits.  
  
“Then what the hell happened that night?”  
  
“Things went too far,” Sam shrugs.  
  
“That’s a Goddamn understatement,” Dean snaps. “If I hadn’t shown up…” he trails off, huffing out a sigh. “Don’t give me that things went too far. That doesn’t cut it.”  
  
Shame and guilt and failure roll through Sam and he shakes his head, tears stinging his eyes. “I hadn’t slept or been out for a week,” he rasps, throat tight with emotion. “I was desperate and careless but I just wanted it to stop, Dean.” His voice cracks and he bites down on his bottom lip.  
  
Dean grabs the back of his neck, squeezing just hard enough to make Sam wince a bit, to make sure he has Sam’s full attention. “I get it, okay,” Dean says softly. “And I’m not gonna make you feel bad about it. You’re doin’ that well enough on your own. What I am gonna do is help you get through this and if this is something you need, I’ll do it.”  
  
“I can’t ask that of you,” Sam whispers.  
  
“You aren’t,” Dean counters. “I’m not just doin’ this for you, Sammy. I’m doin’ it for me. I can’t ever walk into another fuckin’ scene like I did that night. I just can’t. So once you feel better we’ll talk and you’ll tell me what you need, how far to take it. And that’s all that’s to it.”  
  
Sam sniffles softly, barely bothering to resist when Dean pulls him back into his arms. His eyes slip closed and he actually manages to get a few hours of sleep, his head pillowed over his brother’s heart.  
  
~~**~~  
  
After their talk, it takes Sam a few more days to come out of the emotional roller coaster he’d been on. There are still shadows in his eyes but it is a hundred times better than it was. And the last time Dean checked, all the wounds had healed as well.  
  
While Sam isn’t actively ignoring him anymore – he’s actually even back to making tentative eye contact – he still hasn’t come to Dean to talk about the one thing they really need to. When Sam starts flinching at thin air again, Dean knows it’s time to take matters into his own hands.  
  
He’s never been a Dom for someone but with a bit of covert research he gets the gist of it – and thanks to his time in the Pit he knows exactly what _not_ to do which is even more important. Of course he doesn’t know if Sam is looking for or needs the possible sexual aspect of that kind of relationship but he can give him what he needs either way. It’s not like he’s never thought about Sam that way before. Sam just doesn’t know that he has.  
  
They have nothing on the horizon. Dean hasn’t been looking for jobs and if Sam finds something Dean passes it off to someone else. Sure, they should be out there on the front line like they’ve always been but Sam needs to get his shit straight so Dean doesn’t have to watch him self-destruct again and wind up getting iced before he can gank whatever they’re after. So for the first time – aside from Vegas week, which doesn’t count – the Winchester boys are taking a little mini vacation.  
  
Dean hears Sam shut off the shower and corners him in the bedroom, nothing but a low-slung towel covering his long – too lean, too lanky – body. Sam jerks slightly when he looks up and sees Dean leaning against the closed bedroom door, arms crossed over his bare chest, wearing nothing but a pair of loose jeans. His feet are even bare.  
  
Sam swallows and takes a small, almost aborted step toward his duffel but Dean drops his arms and takes a step forward, one hand grabbing Sam’s wrist. “Not gonna need it, Sam,” he states firmly.  
  
There’s a visual tremor that runs through Sam’s body and Dean smirks. He leads his brother to the bed by his wrist and sits him down, crouching between his slightly spread legs. “I’m gonna ask a few questions and you’re gonna answer, yes or no is fine if you can’t explain. I’ll keep it simple.” Inhaling deeply, gathering his thoughts and nerves, Dean exhales slowly, his hands gripping Sam’s knees then sliding slowly, carefully, up the tense muscles of Sam’s thighs. He stops just barely beneath the edge of the towel, can feel the heat of Sam’s groin against the tips of his fingers. “I don’t expect or really want details,” Dean starts. “But I need to know a few things.” Dean quirks an eyebrow, waiting patiently until Sam gets with the program and tips his chin in a jerky nod. “I understand the whole pain aspect, needing it to clear your head and silence Lucifer,” Sam cringes slightly, his eyes darting to the side, “Eyes on me, Sam,” Dean snaps, pleased when Sam’s gaze automatically returns to his face. “Good boy,” he praises, not missing the slight shiver. Maybe Sam needs more from the whole BDSM thing aside from just the pain.  
  
“Even though it was a long time ago, I want to know about Stanford. If you can’t explain that’s okay. Yes and no works here too. You were part of the community there?”  
  
“Some,” Sam answers softly. “Went to a few parties, a few clubs, got into a few scenes. All that was before Jess.”  
  
“Then or now, has it ever been sexual for you?”  
  
Sam swallows thickly, his cheeks flushing slightly but to his credit, he doesn’t drop his eyes. Maybe Sam’s more of a natural sub than Dean realized. “Occasionally,” Sam answers briefly. “One or twice,” he explains when Dean raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Back then, ‘cause now is obvious, sub or Dom?”  
  
“Tried both,” Sam closes his eyes, seems to remember himself, and quickly reopens them. Dean pets his thighs in silent praise. “I can be a Dom and a top but it was never the right fit. Like wearing a suit that’s too tight.”  
  
“So, submissive bottom?”  
  
“Sub yes, bottom not so much.” Dean’s brow furrows and Sam shakes his head, huffing out a humorless laugh. “I couldn’t trust anyone to take it _that_ far.”  
  
“You never got fucked,” Dean states, not a question, but Sam still nods. “What about recently? Was that at all sexual?”  
  
“No,” Sam answers simply. “I needed the pain, not a fuck.” He pauses, chews on his bottom lip. “If I didn’t trust people that I actually knew back at school enough to go there, I sure as shit wasn’t going to let it come to that now.”  
  
“Is that something that you’d want or need now if it was someone you trust completely?”  
  
“You mean you,” Sam whispers.  
  
“I do,” Dean nods. “I can give you the pain, Sam. If that’s all you need, that’s not a problem…”  
  
“But if I said that I needed you to fuck me and hold me after you’d do that too? You’d once again sacrifice yourself for my needs, my wants, to keep your broken little brother sane and alive?”  
  
Dean can hear the anger creeping into Sam’s voice and he knows he needs to tread carefully here. “That’s not at all what I said or meant,” Dean shakes his head.  
  
Sam snorts out a humorless chuckle and shakes his head. “You don’t wanna fuck me, Dean. And I’m not that far gone yet that I’d let you do that to yourself.”  
  
Dean grabs Sam’s wrist and pulls it down, shoving it between his legs, his brother’s huge palm brushing against the hard line of his cock. “Never once said I didn’t want it,” Dean rasps.  
  
“You never said you did!” Sam snaps.  
  
“When would’a been the best time to admit that? Huh?” Dean huffs a sigh and rubs one hand around the back of his neck. “Look, that’s in the past and we can talk and argue about it later. We need to focus on right now. D’you want a sexual aspect to what happens?”  
  
“Why’re you doin’ this, Dean?” Sam whispers, squeezing his eyes closed.  
  
“You obviously need this, Sam,” Dean replies softly. “And I can’t watch you self-destruct again. I can give you what you need.” Sam sighs, his broad shoulders slumping, and reopens his eyes. “Can you lay it out, tell me what exactly you need? Or want?”  
  
Sam licks his lips, quietly searches Dean’s eyes for a moment. “Pain obviously,” Sam admits in a hoarse whisper. “For you to give me a way to let go, for you to take control. With… with you, sex would probably enter into it. Deep down, it’s what I’ve always wanted. Even before I left for school. I-I guess I’ve always been somewhat of a submissive sexually, even with the few guys I was with at Stanford, even with Jess…”  
  
Dean really can honestly say he had no idea Sam is bi. “Thought you said that you never bottomed?”  
  
“I haven’t but that’s not all there is to submission or even gay sex.”  
  
Even though Dean knows that Sam needs this, that they both do, all the oversharing is really starting to get to him. “Okay,” Dean sighs, pushing himself to stand up. “Lose the towel and bend over the foot of the bed.”  
  
“N-now?” Sam stammers, voice nearly a squeak.  
  
Dean undoes his belt and pulls it from his jeans, doubling the leather around his hand. Sam jerks when Dean smacks the bed right next to his hip. “Now,” Dean commands.  
  
Sam swallows thickly and nods, pushing himself to his feet. Despite the tremor Dean can visibly see, when Sam drops the towel, his cock is rock-hard, pre-come already beading at the tip. “You like this don’t you?” Dean murmurs, half-question, half-statement. “Like me tellin’ you what to do, knowin’ that I’mma beat that ass red then make you come so hard you don’t even know your own name.”  
  
Sam moans softly, his cock twitching and Dean smirks, raising one eyebrow as he jerks his chin toward the bed. Sam turns around on shaky legs and bends over. Dean presses one hand between his shoulder blades, pushing him down more, gently kicking his ankles to spread his legs. He ends up completely bent in half, forearms on the mattress, legs spread wide, pert little ass up in the air.  
  
“We’ll start slow, work up to heavier stuff,” Dean states, sliding the tip of his belt over the curve of Sam’s ass, watching his brother’s muscles flex as he twitches and squirms slightly. “A few with my hand to get you warmed up then we’ll finish with the belt. I will not beat you bloody. If that’s what you’re expecting or what you want, get that thought out of your head now. You will not tough it out. You will have a safeword and I expect you to use it if you need to.”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” Sam rasps.  
  
“Yeah, that’s another thing,” Dean cringes. “None of this Sir or Master shit. It’s just Dean.” He leans over, presses a kiss to the back of Sam’s shoulder. “I won’t humiliate or degrade you either. And all of this stays in the bedroom, while we’re in a scene. You want just plain vanilla sex one night, that’s what it’ll be. This isn’t a 24/7 D/s relationship. You’re still your own man, you’re still my partner and my equal. Got it, Sam?”  
  
“Yes, Dean,” Sam whispers.  
  
“Good boy,” Dean praises, kissing the back of Sam’s neck.  
  
~~**~~  
  
Sam closed his eyes, his head hanging down between his shoulders. Even just talking about it, having Dean pressed so close, warm and strong and familiar, has him achingly hard, his whole body buzzing with arousal. He never felt this way before, even the few times back at school when he’d fuck around during a scene, a handjob or a blowjob or even fucking someone else. Dean lights up something inside that he’s never experienced. He came close to it with Jess but even she couldn’t get it right, not like Dean does.  
  
Sam’s always been a little in love with Dean. From the time he was old enough to start having wet dreams and know what love was, to know that what he felt for his brother was wrong. To find out that Dean feels even remotely the same is a double-edged sword. It hurts that they wasted so much time but in the same sense, Sam doesn’t know that they could have really handled adding something like this to their already codependent relationship before now.  
  
“What’s your word, Sammy?” Dean asks softly, kissing the back of his neck.  
  
Sam feels his cheeks flush, thinks about coming up with something else. But he’s always had the same word. “Kansas,” he whispers.  
  
Dean flinches behind him, just a barely-there shift of muscle and Sam inhales deeply, opening his mouth to apologize or tell Dean that he can change it, whatever he needs to say to make Dean not pull away. Dean presses against his back completely, his chest warm and strong, one arm sliding around Sam’s waist as he kisses Sam’s temple. “Okay,” he says simply. “Don’t forget, use it if you need to. Don’t tough it out. Especially since you’re with me.” Sam huffs out a half-chuckle. Dean knows him too well. “This isn’t about bein’ tough or showin’ me that you can take whatever, baby boy,” Dean continues, voice soft and soothing. “This is about giving you what you need, getting you to a place where the things in your head can’t hurt you anymore.”  
  
Sam nods, turns his head just slightly to the side, his eyes fluttering open to look up at his big brother. Dean smiles as him, dips down to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. Sam’s whole body trembles just from the light touch.  
  
He recloses his eyes when Dean pulls away, instantly missing the warm, the connection. Dean presses one hand to the small of his back and Sam focuses on that single point of contact. He doesn’t get any warning, just the sting when Dean’s hand lands firm against his asscheek. He grunts, shoulders shifting, fighting the urge to push back against Dean. It doesn’t really hurt, not compared to what he put himself through before Dean found him, but it is enough of a sting to get his attention.  
  
Dean alternates sides but switches up the rhythm and strength. Sam feels all his muscles start to relax, the warmth from his ass spreading through his entire body. By the time Dean switches to the belt, Sam’s already floating, the rest of the world – and his delusions, his problems – all falling away. He sighs softly, contently and pushes back just slightly into each swipe of leather. He barely even registers when Dean drops it to the floor, the muffled thump a distant sound. Dean’s hands spread wide across the warm, stinging skin of his ass and Sam groans.  
  
“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean’s voice is raw, a little hoarse, wrecked, and Sam smiles lazily, “perky little ass is all red and warm.” He digs the tips of his fingers just barely into the muscle, pulling his cheeks apart. “So pretty, baby. Such a good boy.” Sam shivers slightly at the praise. He’s suddenly aware of his cock again, so hard it’s nearly painfully, leaking steadily against his abs, fat drops of pre-come sliding down his shaft, dripping onto the mattress beneath him.  
  
“Please, Dean,” he hears himself whimper.  
  
“Please what, Sam?”  
  
“Fuck me,” Sam blurts out.  
  
Dean hums softly, his hands spreading Sam open wider. The moist warmth of Dean’s breath against his entrance is the only warning he gets before his brother licks a thick, wet stripe from the back of his balls all the way up to the small of his back. Sam cries out, cock twitching painfully. Dean does it again, and again and once more, before lapping right over his hole, tip of his tongue digging in, circling around his rim. Sam moans and writhes beneath his brother’s talented mouth and hands, legs spreading open wider, the pull of his inner thigh muscles deliciously painful, and tilts his ass up and back. Dean hums again, pushing his tongue just barely inside and Sam’s fingers clench and claw at the sheets. Dean’s steadily kneading the stinging cheeks of his ass, reigniting the fire that the spanking left and Sam is dangerously close to sensory overload. He doesn’t once think of safewording out though. He doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t _ever_ want to stop.  
  
Two thick fingers push inside him, next to Dean’s tongue and Sam nearly sobs. He’s done this to himself in the past – and Jess did it a few times – but it’s been a damn long time and Sam had almost forgot how much he enjoys it, how amazing it is. And the fact that it’s Dean, whose fingers are thick and strong and calloused just makes it even better.  
  
“Dean,” Sam moans, soft and breathy. “Please… I need…”  
  
“Shh, Sammy,” Dean whispers against his ear, his sweat-slick chest pressing against Sam’s sweat-slick back, the denim of his jeans rubbing against Sam’s sensitive ass. “I know what you need, baby.”  
  
Dean twists his fingers, pushing in deep, and Sam chokes on a broken half-moan, half-sob, as Dean hits his sweet spot perfectly. Sam’s a trembling, whimpering pile of incoherent goo and when Dean pulls away Sam panics, reaching back blindly, begging brokenly. “Easy,” Dean commands. Sam settles, nothing moving but his chest as he tries to suck in a decent breath. “That’s a good boy. _My_ good boy.”  
  
Sam is mostly boneless, going easily when Dean flips him over onto his back. The sheets feel like steel wool against his blistered-red ass and Sam hisses, arching his back then pushing down against them, caught between wanting the sensation and wanting to get away from it. Dean crawls up onto the mattress between Sam’s legs, kneeling, a tube of lube in one hand. He’s still wearing his jeans and Sam wants to protest, wants to see Dean naked – not that he’s never seen it before but never in _this_ context. His brother leans over and slides their lips together, no other part of their bodies touching. Sam moans, opening up easily when Dean swipes his tongue along the seam, nips at his bottom lip. The kiss heats slowly, Dean gently cradling his face with one hand. Sam jerks when he feels the slippery-chill of Dean’s lubed-up fingers pressing against his entrance.  
  
They slide in easily and Sam pulls away with a gasp, staring up at Dean wide-eyed. Dean stares right back, gaze heated and intense and full of love. The look nearly makes Sam want to cry; might actually have if he wasn’t so freaking turned-on. As it is, he can still feel tears biting at the corners of his eyes no matter how much restraint he exerts. “Let go, Sammy,” Dean murmurs against the corner of his lips. Sam closes his eyes and melts into the mattress, his brother’s touch and love. He’s still in that perfect shimmery place where nothing else matters and he lets go, surrendering the last bit of himself over to his brother, knowing without a doubt that Dean will take care of him, will break him apart and put him back together.  
  
Dean pulls his fingers away, his clean hand carding through Sam’s hair. Sam blinks his eyes open slowly to look up at him. “Condom?” Dean asks softly, gently wrapping strands of Sam’s sweat-damp hair around his fingers.  
  
“Not necessary between us,” Sam answers just as softly. Dean is his brother, his other half, his everything. He doesn’t want anything at all between them, even a thin layer of latex.  
  
Dean nods – Sam’s sort of half surprised that he didn’t put up a fight – and pulls away, standing up off the end of the bed. Sam tilts his head, watching, heated blood pulsing to his groin, as Dean strips his jeans off. His brother isn’t wearing underwear and where usually Sam would give him shit about going commando, now it’s just unbearably hot.  
  
Dean grabs the lube and pours some over his hand, still standing at the foot of the bed, tall and beautiful and strong, his eyes on Sam as he reaches down and slicks up his long, thick, _perfect_ cock. Sam slides his feet up, bending his knees and spreads his legs wider. Dean licks his lips and crawls back onto the mattress, knee-walking his way up the bed, fingers brushing lightly up the inside of Sam’s thighs. Leaning over, Dean settles one hand next to Sam’s head, the other between them, holding the base of his dick, flushed, thick head pushing just barely inside. Sam’s eyes widen then slam closed, fingers curling into fists in the sheets. He squirms, not even registering the slight burn of his spanked ass, too focused on the burning stretch where Dean is splitting him open. Dean leans over, kissing him soft and sweet. “Easy,” he murmurs. “Just breathe, baby.”  
  
Sam opens his eyes, stares into his brother’s, and does as he’s told. The dull pain lets up fairly quickly – faster than he thought it would – and he feels Dean sink in. He can feel every inch, the long, slow slide until he’s buried to the hilt. Dean settles his weight on his forearms on either side of Sam’s head, their chests, stomachs, and hips pressed together so close Sam is having trouble telling exactly where he ends and Dean begins.  
  
Dean gives it a few longs moments before pulling back out, thrusting in again a little harder, a little faster. There’s still a stretch, a slight burn, and a perplexing full feeling that he’s not sure he likes or not but Sam’s quickly adjusting to the feeling, is starting to enjoy it, to crave it even. Dean brushes a few kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his thumbs wiping through tear tracks that Sam wasn’t even aware of. He settles into an even, steady rhythm, gradually working up strength and speed. They’re both completely quiet except for a few moans and groans – Sam can’t get his brain to work well enough to make words but Dean surprises him, he sort of expected his brother to be a talker, to murmur or growl the nastiest things possible. Sam likes it like this though. He can hear Dean’s breathing, the little noises he makes, the sound of their skin moving together and rustling the sheets and the slightest squeak of the bedsprings.  
  
Dean’s broad, strong shoulders catch Sam’s attention and suddenly he aches to touch. He forces himself to uncurl his fingers from the sheets – knuckles cramping a bit from the death grip he had – and tentatively slides the tips of his fingers over Dean’s collarbones.  
  
“Touch me, Sammy,” Dean murmurs. “’s okay, baby boy. Want’chu to.”  
  
Sam does, exploring familiar skin in a completely new way. Dean smiles and dips his head, burying his face in the crook of Sam’s neck, his teeth scraping over Sam’s thundering pulse. Sam mewls, tilts his head to the side to give his brother all the room he wants. Dean bites down harder, nipping and sucking and licking down Sam’s neck to his shoulder. Sam cries out, clinging to Dean’s shoulders, his thighs tightening around Dean’s hips. Dean picks up the pace, fucking into Sam harder and faster and he can feel the pleasure rising, cresting, sweeping him away, waves of intense bliss crashing over him. The friction and pressure of their stomachs on his cock is exquisite and Dean is hitting his prostate on every perfect thrust.  
  
“Dean,” Sam gasps, digging his fingers into Dean’s shoulder muscles.  
  
“You close, Sammy?” Dean rasps, pulling away from sucking what will be a spectacular bruise into Sam’s neck, their eyes locking together. “You wanna come, little brother?”  
  
Sam’s whole body jerks and he moans harshly, his spine arching, head pressing back into the pillow. “Please, Dean,” he cries out, tears he barely registers once again trickling down his cheeks. “Please!”  
  
“Please what?” Dean urges.  
  
“Lemme come,” Sam begs, sobbing breathlessly. “Need’ta come.”  
  
“Come whenever you wanna, baby,” Dean murmurs. “But come on my cock or not at all.”  
  
Sam’s so close it doesn’t even matter that there’s not a hand on him. He cries out, nearly screaming, when he finally comes, his body trembling, his mind blessedly blank except for Dean. He’s barely aware of Dean grunting and pushing in deeper, the pulse of his brother’s cock as he follows Sam over the edge. Dean holds him close and works them both through their climaxes, raining kisses all over Sam’s face.  
  
Sam blinks his eyes open, finds himself curled up against his brother’s chest, cradled in his strong arms, Dean’s lips pressed against his temple. Sam hums happily and snuggles impossibly closer. “You okay?” Dean asks softly. Sam hums again in agreement, still unable to make words just yet. “Good,” Dean whispers, kissing the corner of his lips. “Rest now, Sammy.”  
  
Sam’s mind is still blank and quiet and he falls into the first restful sleep he’s had since the wall fell.


End file.
